


The Black Sky Comes

by FrostedFox



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Poor confused characters, Protective Will, Will can't be her everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedFox/pseuds/FrostedFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She recalled the last time she felt this paralyzed - when the plane back from Minnesota had jumped mercilessly in the air. She had looked to Will then, too. He had squeezed her hand in silence."</p><p>- </p><p>Another Abigail-lives AU where she is living with Will.<br/>The threat of impending tornado activity in Wolf Trap isolates Will and Abigail together in fear, darkness, and a lonely desire for comfort.<br/>(Includes board games, candles, and the sharing of life stories.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Sky Comes

It wasn’t often that Will listened to the radio, but Alana Bloom had phoned and told him to turn it on and tune it to the news. She insisted that she had to go, but that Will should heed the warnings and not worry about her. Alana was with her neighbours and she was safe. After she hung up, Will tried to plug the radio into the wall three times but his hands were shaking and he was moving too quickly. The fourth time stuck and his newly able fingers twisted the dial until the fuzz faded and a no-nonsense voice prevailed. 

Abigail was unaware of the chaos in the kitchen as she emerged from her room. She went to the cabinet to pull out a bowl and the corn flakes, and fixed herself a simple breakfast without noticing the tense man sitting at the end of the table. Abigail did not give a second thought to the radio. She sat across from Will and listened along to the voice coming through the box. 

 The man who spoke, who Abigail imagined to be thin and awkward in person - though she had no real way of knowing - informed them that the tornado warning had turned into a tornado alert, and that everyone in the area should remain indoors and, if possible, go down to their basements.

Will’s small cabin didn’t have a basement. What it had was seven dogs, a small kitchen, and two bedrooms. Abigail had only lived here for a month. She still felt as though she was on some sort of twisted vacation. She felt like she was waiting to go home. Now she was feeling her heart pounding. Will rested his forehead on his clasped hands, his elbows on the table. 

“Will?”

“Mm?” He lifted his head.

“We’re going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re going to be okay.”

“Can I call Hannibal?” Will’s eyes studied her for a second, maybe two, before he nodded. 

“Of course.”

Abigail took the phone to the front room, where she knew Will could hear her conversation, but where she didn’t have to look at him.

-

“Dr. Lecter speaking,” the cool voice answered. 

“Hannibal?” She asked, then immediately felt stupid for it.

“Abigail.”

“Have you heard about the storm?”

“Yes, it’s all over the news. Are you alright?”

Abigail lowered her voice, “I’m- I’m a bit scared.”

“That’s normal, Abigail,” he said. He was always saying that. 

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t really want to be scared.”

“I suggest you talk to Will about that. Or would you like me to?”

“I think he’s scared too. He’s worried.”

“Ah. Where is he?” She could almost hear concern, almost. 

“Kitchen. At the table. H’s just- I can’t really talk to him. Can you tell me- can you tell me about how it’s going to be okay?”

“If a tornado does form - which at this point is in no way definitive - the trajectory of the storm is never supposed to pass directly over Wolf Trap. You have very little to worry about, Abigail. Stay indoors and away from anything that can fall.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.”

“You’re alright?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. 

“Hannibal?”

“Yes, Abigail?”  
“Thank-you.”

“Take care of Will for me,” she could hear his smile. She smiled back. 

“I will.”

-

When she returned to the table, Will had his head in his hands again. She couldn’t hear any laboured breathing, and she took that as a good sign. He seemed calm. Tired. 

“Will?” He raised his head, looked at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. It’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Abigail said. She sat across from him again. The bowl from her cereal remained on the table in front of her. She picked up the spoon and twirled it around the bowl.

They sat without speaking for a few minutes, listened to the radio that was still updating them on the storm, on traffic conditions, and on what proper procedures were if your house was being ripped and shredded by raging winds. Abigail stood to clean up the kitchen. 

The sound of static began to fill the room as the radio cut off. Abigail froze before whipping her head around to face Will. She recalled the last time she felt this paralyzed - when the plane back from Minnesota had jumped mercilessly in the air. She had looked to Will then, too. He had squeezed her hand in silence. 

Now he wasn’t looking at her. The clock flashed 12:00 before going blank. The kitchen light flickered and went dead. The only light was the natural, clouded light that streamed in through the small window. It was enough to see by, but Abigail wondered what they would do later, when the light ebbed away.

She gripped the edges of the counter, stared at Will in silence. It was a frightened awkwardness that was filling the room. The wind outside picked up. She felt the howl come before she heard it. It sounded like something was dying, wailing. Abigail knew all the dogs were inside, but she peered around into the living room to count anyways. Seven - all accounted for. She took a breath, her shoulders sagged.

The trees outside began to creak as though they were limbs being pulled from the sockets of the earth. Will stood up and walked to the closet in silence, pulled out a bag of white tea candles and a box of wooden matches. A silent answer to Abigail’s unspoken question. When he put them on the table, he looked up at her.

“If we’re going to be stuck here in the dark, we might as well be cozy,” he said. It sounded off, even for Will. She could tell that he was trying to comfort her. He whistled once and Abigail heard the dogs stir, the little ones came tap-tap-tapping into the kitchen, the bigger ones seemed to drag themselves in. 

Will pulled the bag of food out from under the sink and filled three bowls - that got the dogs moving. Abigail sat down on the ground and threaded her fingers in Winston’s fur as he passed. She closed her eyes in the warmth of him, felt herself relax for a moment. When Will was done feeding the dogs, he offered her his hand and helped her to her feet, leading her to the living room where they could sit down on the couch and wait for the storm to pass. 

- 

Will’s living room had always vaguely reminded her of her grandfather’s house, before he had been sent to live in a home, before he had died. The small coffee table had cork board coasters that no one used; underneath the table there was an assortment of puzzles and boardgames she had never heard of. She leaned down and routed through them before looking up and raising an eyebrow at Will. 

“My father’s, mostly,” he said, confirming Abigail’s unrealized assumption that they hadn’t been played in many years. She pulled out an ancient-looking version of Scrabble. Something familiar, at least. 

“You know how to play?” She asked. He breathed out, something like a laugh. 

“Of course I know how to play.” All humour and gentle mocking, a subtle challenge.

“Let’s play this, then,” she said, and started setting up the places. 

- 

The wind was full-tilt howling. The dogs were scattered throughout the small living room; they cuddled up to Will and flopped onto Abigail’s lap. The game was hitting all new competitive highs. Will tried to slip made-up words past her - it didn’t feel like underestimation, but like acceptance. It was silly. Abigail hadn’t laughed like this in months. Every time she shook with laughter, the small mixed terrier in her lap would look up at her face, checking to make sure she was okay. 

They had to take a break to make lunch. Canned tuna from a cupboard mixed with mayonnaise and eaten on saltines and what little was left of the bread. Almost-warm orange juice and oreos from a package. Hannibal would not have approved.

“If I had known we were going to be having a tornado coming through, I might have thought to go grocery shopping,” he said. Abigail just smiled at him - her smile with no teeth that made his heart jump more than it should. 

Hannibal would definitely not have approved.

The room darkened as the day went on. The clouds were black and immense. Abigail stared out the window while she waited for Will to make his moves, enthralled by the sight of the sky. The house was warm inside, and she let the warmth seep into her in place of any fear. No space left to be afraid. 

The day went on. 

- 

Abigail was curled onto the couch facing Will, watching him put the game pieces back in the box. She watched his hands pluck the wooden squares up quickly, moved to watch his face. He was concentrating; he looked as though he cared about nothing in the world more than the clean-up of the game. She twisted her hands, envious. 

When the game was put away, Will leaned back. He was looking at her, and she was looking back. He broke the uncomfortable gaze to glance at his watch. 4pm. He didn’t know what to do. The winds outside were impossible to ignore, screeching and demanding the attention of all within the area. The sound was easier to drown out while they laughed and cheered at the game, but now the howls were overpowering everything else.

“What time did the radio say would be worst?”

“Tonight. Around 9, I think.” He heard the resigned sadness in his own voice. Abigail nodded. 

“Will you tell me a story?”

“A story?”

“Like, something about you. About when you were young. I think you’ve pieced enough of my life together. I don’t know anything about you.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything interesting to tell,” he said. She just kept looking at him, all expectation and patience.

“What’s the worst storm you’ve ever been in?” She suggested. 

“Well, when I was a kid, I travelled around a lot. My father had a boat; he fixed them, didn’t make much money at it. Ours was a little trawler. It was all fixed up, good motor, hand picked and tuned up by my father. We were out on it all the time. 

“When I was fourteen, my father let me go out on my own for the weekend. I knew how to drive it; I had been doing it since I was eight years old. My father - he was drinking a lot then. I don’t think either of us thought to look at what the weather was around the bend. When I crossed over and turned the corner, I realized our mistake.

“It was my fault, really. I should have turned back when I saw the clouds. I was too excited. I didn’t want my first solo adventure to end. So I kept going.”

They both knew the story didn’t end there. It was hard for him to find Abigail’s eyes. The sky was getting darker, the light had long since dragged its broken self out of this room.

 Will rose from the couch to go find the candles he had set out earlier. He brought a handful of the small white circles back, setting them out on the coffee table. The eyes of the candles stared him down, made him feel guilty. He used one match to light two wicks. Abigail watched with concern as the flame crawled closer to his skin, but he shook the match out just before it burned him. He used the already-lit candles to ignite the remaining six. Eight candles in total.

Abigail stared at the dancing flickers of fire before speaking. 

“You know, I remember my eighth birthday,” she said. Will was almost quick enough to stop himself from counting back her years to see how long ago that was - to recall where he was at that time.

 Her youth made him feel rusty. 

“My dad tried to make the cake,” she continued. Will tried to search her face to determine how she was feeling, but the flickering light from the candles made it impossible. The only thing saving the scene from complete eeriness was that what he could make of her face had become familiar and comforting to him. One of a select few, he realized. 

“It was raining that day. Dad - he wanted to surprise me, but he forgot the sugar. He knew nothing about baking. He didn’t realize how the consistency was off, and then he couldn’t figure out why the cake was falling apart. He served it anyways, without tasting it. Oh, it was terrible. The worst part was that he had left the measuring cup full of sugar next to the fridge. You can’t see that counter from the main part of the kitchen.” Will could hear the smile in her voice. He didn’t know if it would ever leave; he didn’t know if he wanted it to. 

“I guess that was a pretty memorable storm,” she whispered, and then, “so what happened - when you drove the boat into your storm?”

“Nothing too bad,” he said, quiet, but not whispering. “It was the scare of my life, up to that point, but I came out of it without a scratch. Couldn’t say the same for the boat though. The hull took months to repair.”

“Was your dad angry?”

“At first, but he forgave me with time. He was - he was a good man.”

“Is he dead, too?”

“Yes, yeah - but it was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. Will wished she hadn’t. He smiled with half of his mouth, didn’t let it reach his eyes. “What stormy lives we’ve led,” Abigail said. Her voice broke on the last syllable, and with it went Will’s resolve. 

“Come here,” he said, sliding over on the couch and pulling a dog hair covered knitted blanket from the ground. She crossed the space and flopped down. Will draped the blanket over her, leaned against her shoulder in solace.

The wind picked up, creaking the house and screaming through the trees. Abigail shuddered despite herself. “Creepy,” she said. Will huffed out a laugh and nodded. 

“Tell me something nice,” Abigail said. “Tell me something sunny.”

“Well,” he paused to think about how much he should say. “I was thinking about getting away from here for awhile, when I get a break from work. Taking you somewhere nice, fun. Somewhere completely different.”

“Yeah? Somewhere sunny?”

“If you’d like. Sure. Florida sounds good, doesn’t it? Sugarloaf Key or someplace like that.”

“You could show me your boat skills,” she gently mocked.

“Hey. I know my stuff. Dogs, boats, and serial killers.” For a second Will thought he might have broken their reverie, but Abigail was chuckling, and it was a lovely sound. “You like that idea?”

“Yeah,” she said, burying her face into his chest, cuddling in. “I really do.”

- 

He gently tapped her shoulder, hoping to wake her. They had both dozed off, lying on top of one another on the couch. It was close to midnight and the winds hadn’t calmed. He couldn’t tell if it was worse or better than before, if these were tornado gales, or just the extreme winds of the outer storm. Will thought about how if they had one, they would be in a basement right now. He pictured the two of them huddled in sleeping bags on foam mattresses. He was thankful, his own bed would lead to less soreness. He kept the danger of the situation from his mind. He was ready for this storm to end. 

Abigail stirred at last. “Hey, we should probably get to bed,” Will whispered. 

“S’the storm done?”

“No, not yet. Should be by the morning, at this rate.”

“I don’t want to sleep alone,” Abigail mumbled. “Can I - Can I come with you?”

Will was tired. He didn’t know how to argue, and he didn’t really want to. He wanted her to be happy, more than he wanted anything else in the world. He held out his hand for her to take and he led her to his room. She hadn’t changed out of her pajamas all day. What she wore to bed never looked like it was exclusively for sleep, anyways.

She crawled in, still sluggish with sleep. Will half-tiptoed to the other side of the bed, the side she wasn’t facing, and stripped off his jeans, his own usual sleepwear being boxers and a t-shirt. He climbed in beside her, and Abigail instantly snugged up close to him. He allowed it, remained perfectly still. Once he heard her breathing steady out - a stark contrast to the raging winds outside the house - he relaxed. 

He could smell her shampoo, felt the warmth of her breath on his chest. Special circumstances, he told himself. You don’t get something as emotionally intense as a storm like this every day. And Abigail was still in such a raw state, they both were. 

Will turned towards her, making them closer but at the same time breaking them of any physical connection. Perfect, he thought. He wanted so desperately to protect her, and this was his chance. 

If he couldn’t protect her from the storm inside her mind, he could at least protect her from the storm outside the window. 

\--

**Author's Note:**

> All of the lyrics to this song. All of them.  
> http://www.songlyrics.com/the-rural-alberta-advantage/tornado-87-lyrics/
> 
> Look! I wrote something that isn't gen! (Sort of.) Working my way back up, eh? Comments are very appreciated and adored!


End file.
